Pointy Sticks and Hair Flicks
by Winter Frosts
Summary: As a clueless 11 year old, it's hard to understand why people with pointy sticks keep trying to arrest you. There's something about the mark on her arm though, and what's wrong with being a Lestrange? UP FOR ADOPTION
1. Making a Fight

**Hey fellow internet wanderers! This is a re-write of one of my other stories, How To Save a Life. I started writing that almost a year ago, and it isn't well-written as I didn't have much of a plot in mind. Now I do, I'm redoing it so that it fits in with my new writing style and foreshadows things. One thing I will say for certain is that this is not a Voldemort!Daughter fic. Clara's parentage is certain, she is the heir to the Lestrange line. This fic also won't be too related to canon plots, more focusing on the ministry and the lore side of Harry Potter.**

 **Review with idea's, or anything really except flames. It makes so much difference to my update time/quality.**

 **Disclaimer: I can't think of ways to do a creative one. I don't own things, I'm just writing this for fun and because my muse will not shut up.**

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One thing that Clara Dinaka Lestrange did not expect to happen on her eleventh birthday was for a brown owl to give her a letter. An owl appearing at all was quite the excitement, an emotion which was rare at St Alban's preparatory school for young women. Amongst the several acres of grounds, there was bound to be a family of them, perhaps hiding in the forest, hiding in the bare branches, or maybe they nested in the big oak tree that guarded the tennis courts. Either way, the birthday girl doubted they looked as polished and as well looked after as this one did.

Its arrival had given the year-6 class quite the fright. The had been in the middle of learning Russian verbs, either bored out of their minds or illustrating funny ways the teacher could die (although this number was only made up of Clara and Siena, the others lacked the - creativity required), when an owl had rapped its beak against the window. This had garnered a few glances, though nothing more. The poor thing must have crashed into the window, but as no one wanted to be the first to go and look, nothing happened.

Tap. Tap.

The class was unanimously looking at the creature now, silently daring the next person to open the window. The ancient teacher coughed, and Clara reluctantly turned away from the welcome distraction.

Tap. Tap.

The rhythmic beating resumed louder than before, urging them to do something. In response, Ms Stokes ruffled her pale-yellow cardigan, and looked rather indignant. With a sigh, Annalise rose out of her chair, a straightened her plaited skirt. Her friendly, yet ambitious demeanour made her the unofficial leader of the class. She walked over to the window, and undid the cold latch. Without hesitation, the bird flew into the classroom, and performed a rather elegant loop before landing on Clara's table.

Penelope, Clara's roommate and friend, screamed and moved as far away from the creature as possible. A few of the girls, mainly the ones who were out of its reach, let out cooing noises. Though yet more children were wondering why it was carrying a letter in its groomed claws. Clara didn't know if she should take it, or not. However, after a few not so affectionate nips from the bird, and she tried to untangle the letter. The girl couldn't answer why anyone would attach a letter to the poor thing.

But once she untangled it a much bigger question was on her mind. The bird swooped gracefully out of the room, and the teacher tried to regain order. The letter very clearly pertained to her. Who would have sent her a letter, via owl? She didn't have many friends at the home, and all her other friends were in this classroom.

"Who the hell sends letters via _owl_?" Pen asked her, to which she shrugged. Maybe it was some elaborate prank to deliver a card. But the rough paper and wax seal, along with the logistics of training an owl seemed too eccentric. The whispers had about died down, and she had placed oddly addressed letter into her bag, when an exceptionally deranged receptionist flew into the room.

"Lestrange what did you do?" She practically yelled. Clara felt her mouth go dry. She hadn't meant to set her wardrobe on fire, and that was a week ago anyway. Or maybe it was about the year 3 she had made cry on her way to ballet. Again, it was a while ago and hadn't been intentional. She opened her mouth to explain when a man entered the room. He was wearing a suit, and held what looked like leather hand cuffs. They couldn't arrest her for any of that? Could they? She was barely above the age of criminal responsibility as it was.

"Mr Shacklebolt here is a police man. They have an order for your arrest." Whispers broke out again.

"Under what charges?" She asked, her no-nonsense voice bringing quiet to the classroom. Having read briefly a book of law, Clara knew that without evidence and charges they couldn't arrest anyone, particularly a minor. Of course, they could probably make up an offence and she wouldn't know that it was fake, but that didn't mean letting them walk her out of here was on the table.

"Under suspicion of terrorist involvement and enticing hate crimes."

The words floated out on the air of a silent classroom. Everyone looked shocked at the man, including the accused. Accusing a child, who spends the majority of her time trapped inside a private school, was like accusing a dog of stealing money from a safe. It wasn't feasible, it was impossible. Apparently to an eleven-year-old girl it was hysterical, as the quiet was replaced by maniacal laughter. Clutching her sides, the accused tried to stop, wheezing in hopes of regaining her dignity.

" _What_... under what" She caught her breath and met the eyes of the man. His eyes were deadly serious.

"What evidence do you have?" She said, only a little humour showing.

"Your left wrist will be all the evidence we need." The girl's hysterical mood changed suddenly. The man saw the recognition in her round eyes, and subtlety, without alerting the muggles, he gripped his wand.

Clara herself didn't know what to do. On her left wrist was an ugly mark that everyone had thought to be a tattoo. She had never told anyone about the way it seemed to move sometimes, but she didn't tell people a lot of things. But it was with a certain knowledge that she was afraid. He knew what it meant, and she was dying to know. Which might be the reality of the situation, because the facts suggested it wasn't a good thing. So, scared and confused and alone, Clara called out to the powers that be. The same powers that allowed her to set her wardrobe on fire, and made her socks fold themselves.

 _Get me out of here. Please give me a shot of getting out of here._

"No. I'm not going with you." She said. Nothing happened. The man glared at her, standing still.

"I'm innocent. I'm not going with you." She said, louder this time, as she gave a panicked look at the ceiling. The man stayed still, glaring at her. There was nothing else for it. She got out from her desk. Still the man stood.

"I'm going to pick up my bag and run." She said, and started walking towards the door. The man stayed still and she laughed.

"You can't move! That's brilliant. I'll be off then." She said, relief flooding her cackle. And then she ran, leaving her class and receptionist yelling after her. She saw no-one on her way to the entrance. She pelted through the corridors. She didn't have any time to grab her stuff. The mysterious letter was stowed safely away, but it was long gone in the panicked girl's head.

Left turn. Right turn. Terrorist? No. Through a door, down two flights of stairs. The carved oaken banister fooled her, as she tripped several steps from the bottom and fell; she was sprawled across the floor, pain flaring across her left side. She got up gingerly, her trance broken.

Tentatively she took a few steps, wincing at her ankle. Working through the pain as her teacher taught her, she continued to walk out of stairwell. She was near the entrance. She reached the top of the grand staircase in the foyer. The sight of a group of people dressed in flowing cloaks and vicar's robes made her stop. Scared that they were also here to arrest her, and scared of moving, she stood there, frozen for a minute. Then one of them, a woman with the reddest hair she had ever seen, saw her, and immediately drew a slender stick. Within seconds ten sticks were pointed at her. Although it felt wrong to call them sticks. They were wands to her imaginative eyes, given her own talents that was not completely ridiculous.

"Lestrange." Growled a man, whose appearance creeped Clara out to no end. "Where is Dawlish?" That must have been the man she stopped. It seemed so trivial now, it hadn't stopped her from being captured.

"I stopped him. He wasn't moving, so I ran." They tightened ranks, she realised that they probably thought she had killed him, and her cackle summed up her thoughts on the matter.

"Why do I want to arrest me? I'm not stopping you, you seem too experienced to be stopped by me. But I don't know what I've done?" She asked a single tear betraying her fear. She held up her hands, sensing an impending attack. They stopped moving forward, but didn't lower their wands.

"We just want to bring you in to question you." The red-haired woman said, a Yorkshire accent subtly lacing her words. The growled man interrupted her.

"As if. You are under arrest for attacking an officer, suspicion of murder, suspected death eater activities." It certainly was a long list, all the charges were ridiculous, and she knew they couldn't convict her because she was innocent. She slowly approached them, noting the fear on their faces. Most of them backed away, and she made a beeline for the kind woman.

"I surrender." She said, shock evident in her voice. The woman looked over Clara's head, her expression turned to one of shock and betrayal, and a soft hand gripped the victims outstretched one, before a horrible squeezing sensation came over them both. Clara felt her stomach compress.

It was over before it started, but it was long enough according to her breakfast, with made a lovely reappearance over a pair of shiny shoes.

Tonks certainly hadn't expected to have messed up this badly. Only a month after becoming a certified Auror, and she was aiding a Lestrange who she was sure had attacked one of her colleagues. She hadn't felt good about the case in the first place. The girl was 11, so was only two when the war ended. Yet they were accusing and charging her as an adult. They were instructed to dress for combat, which seemed ridiculous. When she had finally seen her cousin, the resemblance was uncanny and she seemed so alone.

Leading her to escape the minute she saw Rudkins flex his wand arm in the child's direction. Which caused to her shoes being covered in sick. And the distinct possibly of her losing her job and chumming up with the dementors. Clara scrambled away from the woman, and Tonks noticed she kept refusing profusely and tears were falling softly down her cheeks.

The Auror had always been good with kids, being a big one herself, so she crouched down against her mother's kitchen wall, and patted the girls back.

"Am I in pr-prison?" She asked between sobs. Tonks stopped trying to comfort her, realising that she was flinching from the contact. They'd bloody traumatised her.

"No, you'r not. I took ya home." Tonks took in the warm country counters of the kitchen. Admiring would have to wait, as she heard footsteps going down the stairs. Clara had obviously heard them as well, and she hid in on herself, too scared of Tonks, and too scared of whoever it was that was approaching.

"Mum." Tonks said. Andromeda was on a dressing gown, and held a wand, although it was pointed firmly towards the ground. At the recognition of family, Clara had lifted her head. Andromeda raised her wand and shrunk away from the child, who simultaneously backed further into the wall.

"Bella?" The elder woman asked. Clara shook her head violently. She looked so like new-comer, and a suspicion, no, a fervent hope was forming in her head.

"She had a daughter. I was sent to arrest her, but Rudkins was about to kill her." Tonks stood up slowly, and picked up her charge even slower. Clara noted the similarities between the eldest woman and herself. The hair, the eyes. It was if she was staring 50 years into the future.

"Mum?" Clara asked the woman. Andy felt her heart melt, and noticing the bottom lip of the girl quivering, she rushed forward and embraced her.

"No, I'm your aunt. Tonks is your cousin. You're safe here, I promise." The words flew from her mouth, she did not know fully what she was promising but she knew the words to be the truth.

Clara didn't say anything, but her shaking slowly stopped, the tension fell out of her limbs. If what they said was true, she had family at last. The moments blurred together, until she was standing in the bathroom with a towel, soap, and some (rather too big) clothes in her arms. As she settled into a shower, her normal attitude returned.

Vomiting and crying all over potential family members was a great way to introduce herself. She had poured her heart out, and now they would view her as damaged goods forever. Not to mention she had blindly trusted them, when for all she knew they could be lying, and an armed squadron could be coming for her. Of course, they seemed very genuine, and they let her be on her own. Her childlike hope of family coming to take her away had somewhat prevailed, at its usual point of eradication she had been sent to a boarding school -by a mysterious benefactor nonetheless- and it had flooded back.

She hoped she had not wished in vain. After alternating between boiling and freezing water for several minutes, she deemed herself free of regurgitated cereal and put on the oversized garments. Looking in the steamed mirror before she felt, she frowned at her reflection. Her normally chaotic hair was radiating perfection. She must ask after that shampoo.

"Stop stressing over your hair, you look lovely child!" The mirror exclaimed.

The mirror. Talked. On its own. Clara slowly backed out of the bathroom, her mind spinning. She walked into the kitchen with her mouth gaping. Only to find Tonks now with neon green hair and a wooden spoon stirring lunch by itself. Andy looked at her appearance and laughed?

"You ok? You look like you've seen a ghost?"

"The mirror... talked. And your hair wasn't green before, and the pot is stirring itself!" The girl screamed. She believed in science. In particles and solids, liquids, and gases. In momentum. The spoon was breaking the laws of physics. Which she really, _really_ couldn't deal with right now.

The two women exchanged glances. Andy flicked a stick, like the ones the police were carrying, and the spoon stopped.

"You don't know who we are, do you? What you are?" Confused by their question, the petite girl shook their head, as a dawning suspicion, that she really didn't know anything, was formed. Deadly serious, Tonks gripped her arms and looked her dead in the eye.

"Lestrange, magic is real." And slowly, undetectable to the other occupants in the world, a dozen things in the 11 year olds mind clicked into place.


	2. Fleeing a Fight

**Hey people, because I have exams soon my mind is procrastinating by writing fanfiction, so hopefully there will be more updates! Who needs GCSEs? Well me, because for some reason I want to go to med school, but that's not important. Also thanks to Lunaterre224, Huffpride, and WizardingWhovian (awesome names btw) for reviewing!**

 **Disclaimer: Let's be real do you think J.K. Rowling writes fanfiction? Not counting Cursed Child that is.**

 _ **(This ain't a scene, it's a god damn line break)**_

Comprehension, confusion, and questions erupted in the petite girl's head in a matter of seconds. Funnily, she didn't question the fact that magic was real at all. Despite being the antithesis of science, magic was the most logical solution to the problems facing her. Namely a woman who could dye her hair at random, and a spoon that didn't need external help to stir. Unfortunately for her mind, her body was unable to keep up with the torrent of inquiries she wanted to make, instead deciding to imitate a goldfish. She opened and closed her mouth, unable to make a sound.

It was a rather cute image, a small child wearing droopy clothes, mouthing silently at a wooden spoon. One that Tonks, unbeknownst to Clara at the time, was going to have great fun imitating. The two women, both having grown up in magical homes, could only guess at what the child was feeling. The sense of all your reality breaking, the realisation that the world was much bigger than you know, was one they had never experienced. So instead, they gently guided the child to sit on a weathered wooden stool, shoved some creamy leek soup under her nose, and waited for it all to sink in.

Or tried to. Tonks was too hypoactive in nature to sit in silence. "Nope. I can't sit still. Yes, magic is real. It's kind of obvious when you think about it, you must have done something unexpected before. Something people said was impossible?" She let out a sigh of frustration at the girl, who hadn't even acknowledged that she was being talked at. "Come on Lestrange. You bloody attacked Dawlish earlier and laughed about it. Don't give me the bloody silent treatment now!" She yelled, suddenly realising how stupid she had been in taking a possible death eater into her home. Andromeda looked slightly shocked at her daughter, an arched eyebrow showing her disbelief at Tonk's lack of self-control.

The small figure mumbled something, the incoherent words only intensifying the metamorphmagi's words. "Speak up for God's sake!"

"Nymphadora Tonks!" The elder woman shrieked, snapping Tonk's out of her mind. "I'm shocked. So far today this girl has been arrested, escaped Aurors, thrown up, and had a shed ton of knowledge dropped on her with the subtlety of a hippogriff! The last thing she needs is for you to take out your own worries on her." A piercing gaze later, and an ashamed Tonk's fled the room.

"I didn't attack anyone." The girl said, trying to hide her tears.

"I know that. No 11-year-old, no matter how powerful, could ever take down an Auror, even Dawlish. Tonk's is just scared, not of you but of her own actions. She's always struggled to trust her own judgement." The terrified girl nodded slowly, trying not to show signs of her inner struggle.

"Magic is real."

"Yes."

"What kind of magic? Lord of the rings magic or fairy tale magic?" At this the mother laughed.

"I've no idea. I never read many muggle books, despite my husband's insistence."

"What's a muggle?" Clara asked despite herself. She blushed a deep crimson, and Andromeda smirked, the kid was a Ravenclaw for sure. The hours passed slowly at first, but as the stories became more fantastical, and more humorous, Clara began to accept who she was. She even regaled how her wardrobe was set on fire. The moments blurred in endless questions and more than one outbreak of giggles, at one point, Tonk's re-joined the conversation, apologising for the outburst. As usual, Tonk's unique ability cause fascination and hysterics. Both adults were careful to steer clear of the ministry, keen to avoid awkward questions. If the girl noticed their tip-toeing, she didn't comment.

So, that was how the muggle-born Ted Tonks found a suspected death-eater, giggling away to the duck's beak his daughters face had turned into. The trio were so far gone in their revelry that none of them noticed his appearance.

"What's the meaning of this then?" He asked, his voice grave. Now it made sense that the Aurors had made a 'random' search of his shop that afternoon. He was barely willingly to hear his family out, posters of the small child had been attached to most windows of diagon alley within an hour. Who knew how long it would take until they found out his address, likely not that long.

"Ted, this is Clara. Clara this is my husband."

"Oh, he's the muggle-born, right?" At the red tinge on the man's face, Andy winced. Bringing up blood probably wasn't the best thing to do currently. It appeared as if her darling husband had already heard about the Lestrange child, and not good things either.

"I know who the fecking hell the kid is Andy. But why the hell is she here? There are wanted posters for her all the way through Diagon."

"She's innocent dad. I was there. She didn't even know magic existed ,yet alone who you-know-who was. She was two years old when the war ended. How could she be dangerous?" The man was still angry, but he was now willingly to listen.

"I was in a home. Some people in funny clothes turned up and said I was under arrest. I didn't understand." The girl said, trying to regale her tale calmly and rationally. The man felt a twinge of empathy. He certainly remembered when he found out he had magic, it had explained a lot of things. Once the child had finished, he smiled fondly.

"I believe ya. Not that I would dare go against three Blacks anyway. But what are we goin ta do? They'll search here soon, and they'll want you too, Nymph. Maybe if you surrendered?"

"No." Tonks said firmly. She would not allow her cousin to be arrested falsely. The aforementioned child had slowly shrunk into a ball on the edge of the sofa. These people were nice, and now they were in danger because of her. "She could go to my flat."

"No!" The parents said in unison. "I'd be surprised if they're not already waiting for you when you arrive." Andromeda added. Her damn family always were too chivalrous for their own good. Family!

"I have an idea. I know you'll hate it, but hear me out. There's the black family manor in Northumbria. When I wasn't at Hogwarts or visiting Grimmauld place, that was my home. It's powerfully warded. They won't expect her to be there. There might even be a house elf." They all contemplated it or a while.

"But those wards would be a problem. You were disowned so surely you would be barred from entering it. Along with me because I'm the one you married and Tonks because she's, well, Tonks." Ted said, remembering the warding book he'd read in his Hogwarts days. They all sat for some more, seemingly defeated. A sharp knock on the door sent them into a panic. No 'they're here' was said, but the gravitas of the situation was clear in their faces. Tonks got up but her father pulled on her sleeve.

"Hello. Is anyone home? We have a warrant for a search of this house to locate a dangerous person." A gruff voice said. The adults recognised it as one Alastor Moody's, and Clara became even more fearful at the terror that went across the other faces. Tonks mouthed the words 'go' at Andy and Clara, and go they did. It was as if someone had hit the unpause button. Andromeda shoved Clara into a fireplace.

"Petrificus totalus!" Tonks yelled, and Clara gave out a small whimper as the man she found rather endearing fell on the floor, stiff as a board.

"Tonks!" Andy yelled in shock, but quickly reverted to her frantic search of the fire place. Moody had obviously heard the scream though, because the sound of a door being torn off its hinges was heard. Andy grabbed a fist full of powder and grasped the child's hand.

"Malfoy manor!" The mother yelled in desperation, and let the powder fall from her hands fingers, her hope doing the same. Clara let out a loud scream as Andy slumped on the floor, as Tonks stood behind her. The scream increased tenfold when Tonks fell to a grizzled man, who she now recognised as the one who gave her all those charges.

She would hurt him for hurting her friends.


	3. Malfoy Mayhem

A panic attack was something that Clara had never experienced before. As one might hope of an 11-year-old, her life was a sheltered one, and she had little cause for terror or alarm. But the un-moving body of her supposed aunt, along with the arrival at an unknown location, was enough to send her over the edge. So rather than being a cool, can't-be-beaten hero, she crawled into an empty kitchen cupboard and began to hyper-ventilate.

She wanted it to be this morning again. Before anything unusual had happened. She would be at ballet right now, with her friends, and a long future of not much in particular. She couldn't face the still body of her aunt. She couldn't shake flashes of Andy crashing against her, as they were pulled away in a vortex of green. Tonks had hurt her mother, for her? They had only just met! Thoughts such as these plagued her for an hour or so, until eventually her crying stopped and blissful nothingness came over her. She was not happy, but she was incapable of sadness, for the time being. Instead she decided that only little girls hid in cupboards, and she certainly wasn't little anymore. She tentatively opened the door, and stared into the eyes of another woman. She slammed the door shut again.

"Child, may I ask you to get out from my kitchen cupboard?" Narcissa asked. She had been alerted by their (rather useless) house elf that two-people had flooed into her home. Dobby didn't think to mention one was her sister. A sister that was unconscious. "I will not hurt you. You shouldn't be afraid." There was no change from the shaking sobs. She rang her jewelled hand through her pale golden hair. She had left Draco alone, and if she didn't return to him soon, there wouldn't just be one upset child.

"I can wake up Andy, would you like that?" The sobs stopped immediately. Slowly, the door sung open, and it felt like Narcissa has used a time-turner. She was the perfect likeness to an 11-year-old Bellatrix.

"I would like it if you woke her, but I don't know why she collapsed." Quivered the girl. Narcissa held out her hand, and the girl took it, although it was very tentative. They approached the body, and Narcissa put her near Andromeda's mouth.

"Why are you doing that?"

"To see if she is breathing." Clara felt at least another dozen questions threatening to escape, but she steeled herself. If this woman could help her aunt, then it would be worth it. She couldn't afford it distract her.

It turned out it was actually very simple to wake her. Narcissa chuckled when a simple spell made the girl exclaim in awe. She hoisted up her estranged sister, and let her explain the events of today. Eventually it drew to a close, and a young, blond boy walked into the room.

"Mother, you didn't say people were coming over?" Andromeda frowned. If Tonks had ever called her mother she knew something was wrong. Such formal language shouldn't be used, in her opinion. Of course, her dear daddy Cygnus had expected the same from her. But as her sister explained that they were family, she detected a lot more love between the two than she ever shared with her parents. She smiled when the boy offered to play with Clara. Although he did look dejected when she said she didn't know how to fly.

"He seems like a good lad." She admitted, once the adults were left alone. His sister smiled, but put her glass down, and Andy knew the real talk was about to begin.

"Lucius will not risk his reputation by harbouring the child. You haven't talked to be since you married that-" Narcissa stopped herself at her sister's glare. "Why are you even protecting this child. Surely, she is dark to you?" Andy sighed as she gazed around the elegant kitchen. A tiny thought remembered that this fortune could've been hers if she had chosen a different side.

"Even if your lord didn't see it that way, I was neutral in the war. I put my family before anything, and Clara is my family. As she was innocent, I couldn't let the ministry take her." There was an awkward silence as they both sipped their drinks.

"If we hand her in, they'll have to give her a trial. Then it can be over, and we could give her a permanent, legal home." Andromeda stiffened at the idea of the Malfoys taking her child.

"No offence, little sister, but I'm not comfortable with Lucius taking care of her. Clara is a trusting as a house elf, and I wouldn't have her believe anything your husband says." Again, they paused, both now recalling exactly why they hated each other to start with. "But, I need to hand myself in. Clara can hide until I give testimony. I wouldn't put it past Fudge to chuck the girl in Azkaban whilst awaiting trial."

"But they'll use veritaserum on you to find out her location. Then you'll drag me into this."

"Can't you see that you're already involved!" Andy yelled, finding losing her limited patience. "Clara is an innocent child, your niece! But because your death-eater husband might lose face you'll abandon your own blood!" But Narcissa didn't respond to the outcry. How much the light side had changed her. She was almost Gryffindor-like now.

"I'll oblivate where you put her from your mind. I can guarantee the child's protection but only until Lucius comes home. He's the head of this family and there is little I can do to disobey him. It was in the marriage contract. Of course, you wouldn't know much about those, would you?" She said coldly, and a brief look of hurt came across the elder's face. But soon a glassy expression replaced it, as the conversation was wiped from her mind.

Clara and Draco walked in as green flames filled the fireplace. "Where did Andy go?" The former asked, bewildered by the disappearance.

"She just had something to do at work. You'll be staying with us for a little while. Hopefully all of this will be straightened out. Then you can go to Hogwarts with Draco. Dobby's prepared tea, would you like some?" The disappointment was replaced with a small smile. In fact, they all smiled throughout the meal. It was delicious after all.

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 **It was a short chapter today, but I felt that I'd been depriving you long enough. Exams are the worst, and so are my grades. But they'll be over in a couple of weeks, which will be a relief. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time! Having people who bother to review this time makes me so happy.**

 **Disclaimer: I have not made poly-juice potion and transformed into J K Rowling. Nor do I own her stuff**

 **Also Happy (very belated) New year and Hanukkah, or whatever you celebrate!**


	4. Kwid-Ditch

By the end of the meal, Clara had calmed down somewhat. The crazy, fast-paced events of the morning had had a chance of sink in. As she fiddled with her dark hair, she accepted the truth, that her world was incredibly weird, and obviously not perfect. She hadn't cried when Andromeda had left, leaving her with strangers, but she had wanted to.

"Do you want to play Quidditch?" The pale boy asked her as she finished her meal. Her face turned a little red.

"I'm sorry, but I don't really know what Kwid-itch is." She mumbled, feeling more than a little embarrassed. But by Narcissa's sigh, it was the wrong thing to say. She didn't wonder why though, because Draco instantly leapt into a lengthy lecture on every inch of the game. By the time, he was done, the sun was setting, the amber-orange glow reflecting off her skin. She let out a yawn, which her cousin didn't even notice. But Narcissa did.

"Well, that was quite the discussion dear, but I believe our quest is tired. Dobby!" She said, and a small creature appeared next to the girl, giving her quite the fright. "Would you please show our guest to one of the spare rooms." The small elf nodded, and tugged on the end of Clara's skirt.

"This way miss." He said, and Clara followed him in a half-dazed trance. She barely got to the four-poster bed before she collapsed.

"Mother, what did you put in her drink?" Draco asked, back in the dining room. He hadn't commented on it. If a girl in muggle clothes had appeared out of nowhere in his home, he would have done something as well. But the girl was family, and he didn't think it was polite to poison someone over food.

Narcisa sighed, having suspected Draco to have noticed something. "It was just a little sleeping draught. The girl needed some sleep, and we needed some time to think." She said standing up from the chair. Beckoning her son after her, she exited the dining room. After pacing through several marble corridors, they arrived in the study. The Malfoy family tree was on one of the walls, reminding the woman of the other one in Grimmuld Place. Would the child's name be on thee?

"When your father comes home, you can't mention Clara. In all honesty, I would recommend going to bed early. He'll likely get angry, and I don't want you to see that. If when you wake up, Clara isn't there, please don't ask why." She said, putting a hand on Draco's shoulder. The boy nodded, a little disappointed.

"What's going on. This hasn't happened before. You always told that I didn't have any decent cousins, but now I do." He said, trying to seem politely curious, but his desperation was obvious.

"You know the war that Lucius doesn't like to talk about. Well, this girl will remind him of that. Yes, she is your cousin, but the ministry doesn't like her, r her parents. But it's time for bed, little dragon." She said, patting Draco on his head. The pale boy squirmed at the sign of affection, but got the message that the conversation was over.

Narcissa watched the boy go, before summoning some fire-whiskey. She was going to have to be drunk to do this. Her _oh-so-dear_ husband was not going to like it, and that didn't bode well for her. The sound of a crack from the living room told her that the man was home. This was not going to be fun.

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 **Unfortunately this is the last you'll be seeing of Clara. Thank you, for taking this short journey with me. This is now up for adoption, and I hope, so very much, that one of you lovely readers decides to take it up. i can't go much into the reasons of why I have to stop, for there are too many. the main two is that 1, I have too many stories, and it is making me incredibly stressed, and my already precarious mental health is suffering. The second reason is that this is too similar to one of my other stories (Consequences of Wisdom) for me to write them separately.**

 **I my upload the few snippets of future extracts in another chapter, depending on if you ant them. Please, if anyone wants to adopt this, leave a review, of PM me.**


	5. Omakes!

**Hello, and welcome to the PSaHF Omakes! There's 4, and each one has a little explanation of where I planned to put them in the story. No one has offered to adopt this yet, so even if it isn't adopted, I hope you find some closure in these.**

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 **Omake 1:**

 **So I started to write chapter 5 before I made the decision to stop making this fic. It's just a little bit of drama between Narcissa and Lucius.**

"You did what?" An enraged Lord Malfoy bellowed throughout the halls. Narcissa trembled slightly, trying not to betray how scared she was. Lucius didn't like thinking about the war, for good reason.

"She's just a child, and she's family. Please we have to help her." Narcissa said, placing an arm on Lucius' shoulder, failing to placate him. The man shrugged it off, and leant his hands on the end table. The ministry had spent half the day on red alert because of this. He'd even seen the aurors arguing over whether to arrest the fellow Auror, Tonks. He should've known the black family would be all over this.

"Where is she?" He asked, his voice dipped in ice. The dark lord was dead, and harbouring a criminal would only damage his reputation, and further peoples' suspicion of him.

"She. Is. A. Child!" Narcissa said, standing her ground. If the ministry were blinded by fear it was their own goddamned fault.

 **Omake 2:**

 **I love Neville, he is such an underrated character, and (even though I know it's overdone) I wanted to make the Neville/ Clara relationship a big part of the story.**

"Are you sure you don't mind helping me find my toad?" The pudgy boy asked, and Clara felt a bit o her heart warm.

"I'm fine. Honestly. My cousin hasn't arrived yet, so it'll give me something to do." The girl said, and she began to look around the empty carriage, but there was no sign of any toad. Neville gulped a little, the girl had been brought to the platform by a ministry official, so he'd assumed she was muggleborn. Especially given that he'd never seen her at any of the events his grandma dragged him to.

"Who's your cousin?" He asked, also looking through the carriage. He ducked under the seats, and began checked if Trevor was there.

"Draco Malfoy."

There was a thud, and a yelp. Clara looked down to see Neville re-emerging from under the seats, holding his head, his eyes watering with pain. But beyond that there was a slight undercurrent of fear. The black-haired girl snorted, even though she knew it was rude.

"Who are you?" Neville asked, standing up, and blocking the way to the exit.

"Clara, Lestrange." She admitted, and she slowly began reaching for her wand, not sure of what was about to happen next.

Thud!

"Help!" Clara yelled, after a brief pause. The boy had toppled over backwards, in a dead feint.

 **Omake 3:**

 **At first i wasn't sure where to put Clara, house-wise. It was really a toss up between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Eventually I figured Clara would have ended up influenced by the Malfoys, and not want to go to Hufflepuff. This is also a shout out/reference to the amazing Emilyscartoons on Instagram. She is the wonderful creator of 'Life as a background Slytherin' cartoon, which I love.**

The five girls sat down in their dormitory later the night, all of them a mixture of excited and exhausted. After their initial curiosity, Parkinson and Greengrass and left Clara alone, and had closed the curtains around one of the beds, so they could gossip in secret. The larger girl, Millie, and gone straight to bed, without a word of anyone else. Clara looked at the last girl, and smiled politely.

"Hello, who are you? I would introduce myself but everyone already knows who I am." She said, a slight edge to her words. The terrified victim act had worn thin almost instantly.

"Oh… I'm, well," The other girl stuttered, as if she hadn't expected anyone to notice her. "I'm Emily, I'm just a background Slytherin. You're not really supposed to talk to me, being the protagonist and all." She said, and then she let out a nervous laugh.

 **Omake 4:**

 **so, I ever really intended this to go into the story, at least not without serious revision. It was just a potential ending I came up with. It's basically me having a go at the ridiculousness of magical society, which could never function IRL.**

"What did you want to talk about Clara?" The headmaster asked, and Clara took in a deep breath, cooling her temper. Then she began.

"Firstly, let's talk about you." She said, and let out a smile, although it wasn't happy. "You put a 1 year old in an abusive home! Ok, maybe you didn't know it was abusive. But you could have checked! You have no idea the amount of irreparable psychological damage that could have caused Harry! Yes, he turned out ok. He even defeated the dark lord, again, but that was chance! He could have just as easily become a sociopath, or someone riddled with PTSD, anxiety or OCD.

Also, he's 11. He is younger than me, and I certainly couldn't fight with an adult. Him and Weasley ended up in the hospital wing! Harry almost died! Just because of some dumb prophecy! So what if they have to kill each other! You, the dude who defeated Grindelwald, could have captured him, injured him! Forced him to the point where all Harry would have had to do is cast one spell, and the prophecy would have been completed.

Not to mention the issues with this school! The ability to turn a mouse into a tea cup doesn't negate the need to teach maths, English and science! Maybe science needs to be tweaked, given that all the laws of physics are wrong, but even so! Money is essential to finance. If Hogwarts taught maths, maybe there wouldn't be a monopoly on banks, and therefore interest rates. Maybe if you taught English further than the age of 11, the magical community could have a better standard of laws, rather than accidental magic counting as a punishable offence after the age of 11!"

The girl took a deep breath, and took another step closer to the professor, who was staring gobsmacked at the girl.

"And finally, if you taught science." The girl let out a deep breath, and shook her head slightly. "We could solve quite a few of wizarding societies problems. "We could study are genetics in comparison with muggles, and find out just what makes us difference. If we did that with muggleborns everyone could see that blood-supremacy really is stupid. In half a millennium, we haven't had another merlin, or the founders. By studying ourselves with science we could work out why. Why wands or potions work, and then how to make them more powerful. We could improve society Dumbledore." She said, shrugging.

She felt a weight lift off her chest. She felt lighter, and she walked towards the door. "Thank professor Dumbledore, for supporting me. But wizarding society in Britain, is frankly, ridiculous. It would only work in a work of fiction. This is real life. I'm going to move to Canada before this country completely collapses, and as there isn't a mystical prophecy controlling my every love, you can't stop me. Toodles!"

The door slammed behind the short figure, leaving a speechless Albus behind. He would forever rue the day he let a Lestrange meet a Potter.

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 **So that is all of the extras. I really hoped you've enjoyed this story as much as i enjoyed writing it. Again, I would love to read someone's work if they decided to adopt this, as i really do like the characters of this story, but I have to focus on my figure skating and school work.**

 **Leo,**


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